A Day at the Office
For All Nails #20: A Day at the Office by Noel Maurer ---- :Mexico City, F.C.D., U.S.M. :12 September 1971 Robert Contreras was generally a happy man, although there was no way anybody could possibly see that at the moment. "What the fuck are you molesting me about this for?" FN1 he hollered into the phone. His employee might depend on Bob for his job, but the guy was Jeffersonian, and he gave as good as he got. "Because I got ni idea what they're talking about, patrón! I thought maybe you might, being in charge of the company and all." FN2 The sarcasm was muted, but obvious. It didn't bother Contreras. "Listen, compadre, I have no idea what they're talking about. Our records are fine. I know it, you know it, they know it. Deal with it." "Patrón, if they're fishing, there's no bait." "And there shouldn't be. Our papers are in order, unless you guys have kicked the duck over there." FN3 Somehow, the subordinate's exasperated expression was transmitted over the phone lines. "Not that I'' know of, patrón. I'll handle it. Como sea." They hung up. ''Christ almighty thought Contreras. I have more important things to worry about right now. A bunch of customs officials investigating allegations of smuggling at the company's Monticello office was low down on the priority list FN4. First came getting Pemex to come through on its promise to honor the escalation clauses in its contracts. Contreras bought a whole lot of inputs from the CNA, and this damn exchange rate volatility was killing him. Then came preparing for his meeting with the Progressive Party's presidential candidate, Immanuel Moctezuma. Official support was official support, and Moctezuma could really help him both in getting Pemex to honor its contracts and in winning the Chamber presidency. Of course, Secretary Mercator's support would be even better, but as in his daughter's favorite expression, "Lo que sea." The phone rang again. Will I never get moment's peace? thought Contreras. He punched the speaker button. "Who is it?" "Your daughter, sir," said his latest secretary. Well, she didn't quite say it, she respired it. That voice was why Contreras had hired her. Her looks were why his ex-wife had tolerated her. His current wife, just back from Switzerland, didn't really care. Contreras had always thought of Manitobans as Jeffersonians without the guile. Which was good for him, all around. "Great!" It wouldn't be, Contreras knew his daughter, but he was always happy to speak to her. "Put her through." He morosely looked at the contracts scattered over his desk and waited for the call to be connected. "Papi!" yelled his daughter. "The loke broke down! What'll I do???" Oh my God, he thought. My children have become strawberries. I never thought it would happen, but it did. Smiling to himself at his offspring's, well, uselessness, Contreras said, "Calm down, honey. Take a breath. What happened?" "I don't know, papi! I just went to start it, and there was this grinding noise and oil came out of the front and now everything smells like vulcazine! What'll I do?" "Okay, honey, where are you?" "At school," whined his youngest. "You're at the Tech? Okay. Leave the car there. I'll call a mechanic to tow it. You stay in the cafeteria and I'll come by to pick you up in a few hours." "Hours? Papi! I can't stay here for hours! I mean, it's soooo embarrassing." Embarrassing? When he was her age, it would have been a challenge. Of course, she was just a girl. What niggled at him wasn't so much Jennifer, or his other daughter, as the thought that his younger son probably thought exactly the same way ... there's something embarrassing about realizing that your children have turned into the kind of people you used to beat up in the bathroom of your junior high school. Would that they had all turned out like Bobby Junior. "Why don't you call your mom?" "Paaaaaaaaaapiii ... momma's in California right now, at the beach, with that new guy." She didn't like the new guy very much. That, perversely, made Bob feel pretty good. Bob had primary custody (a judge owed him a favor) but this was supposed to be her mother's weekend. Evidently the woman formerly known as the most beautiful in Jefferson City had other things to do. "Right. Okay. I'll send over a driver right away." "You will? Oh, papi, that's wonderful! You're the greatest!" Bob grunted something else, and tried not to roll his eyes. But what could he do? He simply couldn't resist his little girl. After she hung up, he rang his secretary. "Marie? Listen. Can you send a car and driver over to the Tech campus for me?" "Sure, I'm on it, jefe. What for?" He sighed. Marie was from California. She would think this was as ridiculous as he did. "Uh, to pick up my daughter." Marie laughed. "Again?" "Yeah, again. I never should have moved to Mexico City, Marie. My children have turned into spoiled little rotten strawberries." Marie laughed again. "Oh, they're not rotten strawberries, jefe. I've seen rotten strawberries. They're fresh and flavorful strawberries." Now he laughed. "Right, right. What's with these kids, Marie? I thought they'd all turn out like my eldest." "That's 'cause you never did anything for Bobby Junior, jefe." They both laughed at that. "So parental neglect is good, huh?" They were both Norteños. He was supposedly Hispano, and she was putatively Anglo, but that paled to nothingness when you considered that they were both from el Norte. The pompous aristo crap here in Mexico City. He never should have sent his children to private school, but after the mess Chron had made of the public education system, how could he trust his own children to it? On the other hand, the public school kids had to wear uniforms, and that would have freed him from a major source of filial tonterías. "Thanks for handling it, Marie." He hung up, and turned back to studying the contracts on his desk. His major managers would be coming in a couple of minutes, and they had major problems. Well, everything was a major problem nowadays. The really pressing one was that their North American creditors were gonna cut them off unless they agreed to denominate everything in pounds, and unless Pemex could be made honor their goddamned escalator clauses that would be impossible. The second-to-last thing Contreras needed was to worry about some Customs guy in Jefferson sniffing around for a bite. The last thing, well, the last thing was worrying that his daughter was becoming spoiled ... easier to send the car, even if he wasn't entirely sure it was the right thing to do. Three minutes later, the timer buzzed. "Yee-up. Hey, Marie. Send 'em in." He took his finger off the button, and the front door to his office opened automatically. He kinda liked that. The door and the office walls were all paneled in the same light-colored hardwood, so unless you knew where the door was, you'd never notice it until it opened. In shuffled his top people, including his brother and business partner, Charlie Contreras. ---- Proceed to FAN #21A: Officers and Gentlewomen Proceed to 19 September 1971 (USM politics): The Candidate. Proceed to Contreras family: Mangia!. Return to For All Nails. Category: Contreras family Category: USM politics